


Just Some Boys From Brooklyn

by Cr0wdc0ntr01



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Barnes Family, Bucky Barnes Swears, Bucky Barnes is a little shit, Howling Commandos - Freeform, It's Brooklyn Bitch, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Steve and Bucky Going Down With The Valkyrie, The Invaders, The Mouth On That Guy, Younger Steve and Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cr0wdc0ntr01/pseuds/Cr0wdc0ntr01
Summary: At the end of the line, two kids, still shy of their twentieth birthday stood at the helm of the Valkyrie and aimed it at the water.History books do like to romanticise the facts.A little re-wording here and there, and suddenly the bad guys are lookin’ mighty bad while the good guys are smelling of nothin’ but roses. When it comes to the legend of Captain America? History tweaked the story. Made it a sacrifice for country and honour rather than one carried out with one small block of Brooklyn in mind. It made older men from boys, and reckless deeds into heroics.SHIELD had a hell of a time when they found two teens, still clutching at each other, instead of the men they expected.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Clint Barton & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark & Thor, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 40





	1. History and Future

**Author's Note:**

> General Warnings:  
> \- There will be a sprinkling of curse words throughout the story. Bucky swears like any kid that spent time in the trenches of Hell. While it's mostly spread out and not too bad, certain parts will be worse; when things get emotional mostly.  
> \- Canon typical violence in some scenes. Not particularly graphic but it happens.

History is a funny old thing. Ain’t a lick of it, either remembered in memory or written word, that was fully true. ‘Specially the written stuff.

There’s a quote he remembers reading somewhere – where or when he read it, he doesn’t recall. Really, he doesn’t even remember the full wording; but he knows the sentiment of the thing - the meaning of it.

History books are always written by the winners.

And ain’t that a thing? You’d think it was probably something done only with the big stuff. A little re-wording here and there, and suddenly the bad guys are lookin’ mighty bad while the good guys are smelling of nothin’ but roses. Don’t matter that the good guys introduced just as many bodies to bullets as the bad guys. Because they’re the good guys, right?

It ain’t even the big stuff, though. It’s hard to remember that sometimes historians change the little details too. Just a small twinge here or there to make everyone on the right side of the fight look just a little better. Make what happened have a little more meaning, like it hadn’t been mindless bloodshed for the sake of ego and pride.

Like for example, changing the story of two boys from Brooklyn who signed up because it was their utmost honour to do their duty. Whose friendship was so strong, they went and followed each other onto the front lines to fight the good fight. That followed that same war across Europe, making a name for themselves as they cut through enemy bases with heroic deeds and nothing more than a handful of men, sheer daring and nerve. Those same two men who’d gotten on a flying ship and stoically rode it to the bottom of the Atlantic all in the name of saving the world.

History books _did_ like to romanticise it all.

Truth is, while there were two boys from Brooklyn that were closer than brothers; only one of ‘em signed up for the war. The other was drafted at seventeen. The boy not drafted did just about anything – including lying on enlistment forms and signing up for some shady government experiments – to follow his friend onto the front line. History books didn’t like to focus on this aspect, but the two boys were still only the tender age of seventeen, a few months shy of their eighteenth birthday, when they were reunited behind enemy lines; one of them larger than life intended, looking fierce and worried even as he disobeyed direct orders on the chance his friend might still be alive; the other strapped to a table, feeling older than he had any right to, sore and so goddamn relieved to see his best friend.

Together they did cut a swath through Nazi Europe, but at the time they weren’t being praised for daring or nerve. Their commanding officers cursed them for their reckless and insane methods, while also acknowledging their effectiveness and pointing them to new and bigger targets. They even went so far as to throw a handful of equally reckless soldiers under the boys’ command to get the job done. On the front they were known as the _Invaders_ – taking missions no one else wanted and getting them done right fast. The history books tweaked the name and made it something more inspirational while still holding mostly true to the spirit of the squad. And while The Howling Commandos might be a nice name for the books, the squad never could inspire any of their fellow, right-minded, soldiers to follow them into battle.

At the end of the line, two kids, still shy of their twentieth birthday, stood at the helm of a flying ship, filled to the brim with nukes, and aimed it at the water. But they didn’t do it with heroic poses or thoughts of duty in their heads. They clutched tight to one another’s hands, terrified and scared, as the water rushed toward them; thoughts only on what would happen to the friends and family they’d left in Brooklyn if this flying ship didn’t go down.

History switched the story around. Made it a sacrifice for country and honour rather than one carried out with one small block of Brooklyn in mind. It made older men from boys; and reckless deeds into heroics.

Spread that story so thick that when the flying ship was uncovered and the two soldiers were found alive inside (if slightly frozen), that not a single person in the retrieval team were expecting to find anything other than two heroic and stoic men.

SHIELD, the organisation that found and defrosted them, had a hell of a time when they found two teens, still clutching at each other, instead of the men they expected.

Against all odds, Bucky Barnes blinked open his eyes to see the light of another day. He was warm and comfortable; feeling cleaner than he had since he first shipped out. For a second, he could almost convince himself that maybe a sinner like him had managed to sneak his way to heaven. The comforting thought lasted right up until he realised he was alone.

Ain’t no way a guy like him made it to heaven and didn’t find Steve Rogers waiting for him.

No way, no how. Bucky had never met a person more suited to joining the heavenly host than Steve ‘ _do-the-right-thing’_ Rogers. And if some how the stupid punk hadn’t made it up here, well, Bucky would raise enough Hell that Steve would get in anyhow.

Sitting up, Bucky looked around the mostly bare room.

There was a window to the left of his bed, sunlight drifting in even as the radio sitting on the window ledge rang out about some ball game or another. Only, wait a second, was that-? That was the ballgame from 1941, wasn’t it? That couldn’t be right. Bucky had been at that game _in person_ alongside Steve. They’d cheered and shouted until their voices went hoarse. Then they’d pooled the little change they had left after paying rent and for Steve’s medicine, together to buy a pair of the best goddamn hotdogs.

Bucky had been freshly turned sixteen and it had been the best day of his life.

It was fair to say he remembered it well. Enough to know that it was impossible that the game was being broadcasted live on the radio. Which meant that for all this place looked nice and inviting – it was nothing more than an elaborate trap.

Well, Bucky had been a prisoner of war once before. He had no interest of playing that particular part again.

The second the door opened, he pounced. He didn’t let the nurse serve him whatever crap 'n’ bull story they’d cooked up for him. One time or another he might have felt bad about hittin’ a dame. That was before he’d met Agent Carter, though. That woman terrified him in ways that his own Ma never could. She alone made him realise that it didn’t matter what a person was packing beneath their clothes; an enemy was an enemy.

He took the dame down and danced sideways to avoid the hands of the guard that tried to grab his shoulders. Bucky spun on his heel to get behind the man before planting his foot firmly in the guard’s rear. He didn’t stick around to watch the man embrace the floor.

“STEVE!” Bucky shouted loud and hard enough that it ripped at his throat. He did it a second time, feet carrying him at a sprint down an unfamiliar hallway.

“BUCKY!” A familiar returned shout had him changing course so fast that his shoulder slammed hard into the wall. He paid no heed to the way the wall crumpled around the hit, already letting his feet carry him toward Steve’s voice. They played on odd game of Marco Polo, taking down any guards in the way, until they quite literally slammed into one another.

The impact sent them both to their asses.

Only, neither of them minded as they grinned all too wide at each other. Exhilarated beyond belief to find the other alive and well.

“I’ve been lookin’ for ya!” Bucky announced, scrambling to his feet and sticking his hand out for Steve to take; hoisting him up the second his palm hit Bucky’s own.

Steve slapped Bucky’s shoulder, grinning so wide that Bucky was sure he could see his molars. “Well I was lookin’ for you! Didya wake up in a weird room, too?”

“Yeah! With the game from ’41 playin’?”

“Staged just like a set from Hollywood.” Steve agreed with a nod even as he threw an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Together they began down the hallway. Neither felt the need to rush now that they were once more reunited – though they did stop long enough to arm themselves with the weapons of one of the felled guards.

“Didn’t think we’d be wakin’ up again, Stevie.” Bucky commented. He turned the weapon in his hands over, eyeing it. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before but that didn’t stop him from pointing and firing the damn thing at the next guard they passed. Both Steve and Bucky blinked when they realised the weapon was shooting non-lethal rounds.

“Huh.” Steve shook his head, turning away from the downed guard. “Thought it was the end of the line myself there for a while.” Steve said in response to Bucky’s previous comment.

Any further discussion was interrupted by the sudden high-pitched wail of alarms. The hallways winked angry red lights at them.

“Think we best be getting out of here, Cap.” Bucky said, shrugging off the arm from his shoulder in favour of holding his acquired weapon more at the ready.

“Follow my lead then, Sarge.” Steve said, readying his own freshly liberated gun.

“Always do.” Bucky could do nothing about the grin that stuck to his face even as he followed close on the heels of his running best friend. They took corners sharply, firing non-lethal rounds at any guards that had the misfortune of being in their way. The poor guards clearly hadn’t been briefed on who it was they were trying to hold captive – most of them fell before they had time to do much more than notice Steve and Bucky barrelling toward them

Steve threw his whole body against a set of doors, bursting them open and leading them into a large, exceptionally clean, open space. It looked a lot less like a HYDRA base and a lot more like the foyer of one of those fancy high-rises in the heart of New York city. Especially with all the well-dressed fellas and dames – all of whom turned to face them in surprise but made no effort to reach for weapons.

Bucky caught sight of a window comprised of a full height pane of glass that led to the outside world. He wasted no time in running toward it, appropriated weapon hilt in the lead. He brought the hilt down against the glass once and then once more until it shattered. Cool air greeted him, ruffling his hair and tingling his skin.

“After you, Captain Rogers.” Bucky said with a magnanimous sweep of his hands.

“On my six, Sergeant.” Steve quipped back before leading the way outside. Together they pumped their legs hard, sprinting barefoot through unfamiliar streets and pass gaping people.

Bucky kept his eyes locked on the back of Steve’s shoulders but even still he couldn’t miss the wrongness of the world around them.

They came to a skidded stop in a spot that looked an awful lot like Times Square from back home, if it weren’t for all the too bright flashing screens and too sophisticated buildings. They were surrounded on all sides by gaping civilians dressed in unfamiliar clothes and pointing little tiny machines in their direction. The same crowd gave muted cries of alarm when Bucky brought his weapon up to sweep around.

“Steve?” He said, voice shaking something fierce, though he’d never admit it.

“Yeah?” Steve’s sounded just as shaken, just as distant.

“Where the hell are we?”

“The question isn’t so much _where_ you are as it is _when_.” A new voice announced. The crowd split apart as a dark-skinned man, with a patch covering one of his eyes, stepped closer to them. His entrance must have been some kind of signal because more of the heavily armoured guards peeled themselves from seemingly nowhere.

Bucky scrambled back until his shoulder’s were pressed against Steve’s. He kept the weapon up and in a constant sweeping pattern so as to keep all of the guards in his line of sight. A part of him wanted to believe Steve was doing the same thing behind him but he just knew he wasn’t. Even without looking, Bucky could picture the exact jut of Steve’s chin as he stared the dark-skinned man down, shoulders back and fists balled tight at his side.

“And who the hell are you?” Steve said in his patented _fight-me-punk_ tone of voice. The tone of voice made Bucky want to _goddamn weep_ just as much as it made him want to bare his teeth and soothe the sudden itch of his knuckles off some poor schmuck’s face.

Bucky settled for grinning ferally at the assembled guards even as he kept his weapon sweeping.

“My name is Nick Fury. I’m the director of SHIELD.”

“That supposed to mean something to us?”

“No.” Fury snapped, sounding just a touch annoyed. “Fact is, Captain, that you and your Sergeant have been asleep a long time.”

“What’s that suppose’ to mean? Huh?” Bucky called over his shoulder. He wanted to turn and face the man himself, but he couldn’t leave Steve’s back exposed like that.

“When you crashed the Valkyrie, the ice swallowed you both. You’ve been asleep a long time, Sergeant.”

“You keep sayin’ that.” Steve noted in that slow drawl of his that meant he was quickly losing patience and fists were seconds from flying. Almost instinctively, Bucky found his whole body tensing up in anticipation. “Why don’t you get to the point.”

“It’s been seventy years, Cap. You’ve both been in the ice seventy years.”


	2. 70 Years of Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: As I said previously, there is some cussing throughout the story. That includes a word or two in this chapter.

Bucky sat heavy beside Steve. They had been quietly returned to the building they had just made a mad dash escape from, and now sat together in a pristine looking conference room.

They were both sat with shoulders suddenly slouched as they looked passively at the pictures Fury showed them one by one.

“Whadda ‘bout my family, huh?” Bucky asked, turning away from the newspaper heading that showed some gibberish about some supposedly all-important future happening. Bucky didn’t much care for any of it just then. “What happened to my Ma and my siblings – my sister and brother?”

Steve tensed further in his seat, eyes coming up to fix Fury with a hard stare as they awaited his answer.

Fury seemed completely unruffled by their twin glares. There was something a lot like sympathy in his eyes as he looked at them – there was also something calculating there too; enough so that Bucky knew this man wasn’t to be fully trusted.

“Far as we can tell, Sergeant, they lived very good lives. Your mother lived until she was sixty-eight years old before passing in her sleep. Your father passed at seventy-two from heart disease. As for your brother, he married a woman and had three children with her. He passed two years ago from heart disease, as well.”

Bucky gaped, lips forming words that made no noise.

“They’re gone?” Steve asked in Bucky’s place. He sounded just as wrecked as Bucky felt, even as he reached out to grab Bucky’s hand tight in his own.

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss, son.” Fury sounded completely sincere when he said it.

Bucky looked down, blinking his eyes rapidly. He turned Steve’s fingers bone white with how tight he held on. When he was sure he wouldn’t do anything embarrassing, he looked back up. It took working his jaw for a minute before he managed to croak out; “My sister?”

“Your sister resides in Brooklyn with her husband. They had two children together.”

“She’s alive?” Bucky had to be sure. He felt something fragile settle in his chest when Fury offered a sharp nod. It felt a lot like hope. “I wanna see her. I wanna see her right now.”

“We can facilitate a reunion once we’re finished with your briefing-,”

“Fuck the briefing!” The chair Bucky had been sitting in crashed to the floor as he wrenched himself to his feet. “You think I give a rats ass about any of this?” His hand swept just above the pages sat on the desk before him; he only _just_ managed to stop himself from sweeping them all to the floor in a fit of childish rage. “I wanna see my sister right the hell now!”

“Sergeant Barnes-,”

Steve was on his feet standing close beside Bucky and radiating a similar level of tension, “With all due _respect_ , Director,” and his tone implied not much was due, “I think Sergeant Barnes has waited long enough to be reunited with his sister. Seventy years is an awful long time.”

Fury was silent as he gazed between them before he gave a very sharp nod. He swept from the room without so much as a word.

The minute he was gone, Steve turned to his friend. A heavy hand landed on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing tight.

“Buck-,”

“Don’t, Stevie.” Bucky interrupted quickly. “Please don’t.”

For a second, Steve said nothing but the hand on his shoulder gave another tight squeeze. “Yeah. Okay.” He agreed quietly. “Let’s go see Becca.”

Rebecca ‘Becca’ Barnes lived in a modest two-story brownstone house a street over from where Bucky and Steve had grown up.

Seeing Brooklyn looking so far removed from anything they remembered had been hard for the two recently defrosted soldiers. None of that compared to the nerves they felt standing on the steps outside Becca’s door.

Both Steve and Bucky had requested dress uniforms so they could at the very least look respectable when they presented themselves on the doorstep. The suits they had been given were different to what they remembered. More modern. But it still felt more familiar than the shirt and pants they’d both first woken up in.

“Ready?” Steve asked.

Voice too tight to speak, Bucky could only nod.

Steve nodded back before bringing his fist forward to knock smartly against the aged front door.

Bucky felt like his lungs had all but frozen stiff as he stood waiting for the door to open. When it finally creaked open it was to the sight of an old wrinkled man that neither Bucky nor Steve recognised.

“Oh,” The man blinked as he looked between them. “Can I help you boys?”

“Is this the address of Becca Barnes?” Steve asked when Bucky still could not get his voice to work.

“Well, she hasn’t gone by that name in a while,” The man said with an amused smile. “It’s been Rebecca Proctor for over fifty years now.”

“But she does live here?” Steve pressed.

“She does. What’s this about?” The smile on the old man’s face turned to something sadder. “Is this about her brother? Did they finally find James’ body?”

“It, uh, it is about her brother, sir. But they didn’t find his body.” Steve hesitated, eyes flicking from Bucky back to the old man.

“Can we see her?” Bucky blurted, voice box suddenly coming back online. “We gotta see her, please mister.”

The old man stared for a moment before stepping back and gesturing for them to come inside. Together they stepped inside. Bucky stayed huddled closer to Steve than the small entrance hall really required.

“Why don’t you take a seat in the living room, and I’ll go fetch her.” The old man said, gesturing to the left where a set of very comfy looking couches sat. “Can I offer you gentlemen some refreshments? I’ve got some beer in the fridge?”

“Maybe after. Just-,” Steve broke off to clear his throat. His eyes were glassy and rimmed in red; his face was a shade of milk white. He looked about how Bucky felt. “Please, can you fetch Becca?”

Confused though the old man might be it didn’t stop him from offering them both a kind smile. “Of course.”

Steve and Bucky both wandered their way into the living room, though neither took a seat. Steve stood, fidgeting at the front of the couch, while Bucky migrated to the many picture frames located on the mantle. Almost instinctually, his eyes locked on to a picture of two very familiar individuals.

“Jesus, Steve, c’mere ‘n look at this.” Bucky called hoarsely. He carefully plucked the picture frame from the mantle with shaking hands. “That’s my little brother and my little sister.” Bucky choked. A trembling finger traced the two deeply wrinkled faces staring back at him. “God, but they look older ’n I do.”

Steve’s hand landed on his shoulder and held tight even as the blond peered over at the picture.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Bucky’s voice trembled as hard as his hands. “Last time we seen him he was still just a kid.” In his minds eye he pictured Robert ‘Bobby’ Barnes the way he’d last seen him. Fourteen years old with skinny limbs that stretched too long. Freckled face smooth of any wrinkles and blue eyes lit up with a fathomless love for life that came with youth. Bucky remembered Bobby’s nervous energy around the fairer sex that he was only just starting to realise might be something interesting.

His memories jarred almost painfully against the wrinkled skin and grey hair of the man stood in the picture he now held. There were similarities, in the pattern of freckles and the shade of his blue eyes, but those were far and few between. Even the overall shape of his face had been changed with age. Bobby Barnes looked more like their father in this picture than he ever had in the memories Bucky had of him.

Footsteps behind them had him carefully putting the picture frame back in its place.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. My husband said you came calling for me. Something about my brother?” A female voice spoke. She sounded nothing like the nine-year old Bucky had said goodbye to when he shipped out. Age had made her voice crackle in unfamiliar places even as it softened her words.

Bucky and Steve both turned around as one.

She looked very little like the little girl he’d left behind. But there could be no doubt that standing before him was his Becca.

Her face was frozen in shock, wrinkled hand coming up to cover her lips. Her eyes filled with tears before they overflowed, twin streams slipping quickly down her face. Her brown eyes, the eyes of their mother, hadn’t changed. “B-Bucky?” She cried.

Bucky was across the room and scooping her up before he could even blink. He forced himself not to squeeze her too tight as he enveloped her in his arms and buried his face in the side of her neck. She hung on him; hands fisted in his lovely new jacket; no doubt leaving wrinkles.

“Hiya Becca,” Bucky murmured before lifting his head up enough to press a kiss to hair long since turned grey. He pretended not to notice the dampness on his cheeks as he held her through her own tears.

Only once her sobs had begun to taper off did he step back a bit.

Looking behind him, Bucky gave Steve a pointed jerk of his chin. “Get your big ass over here, Rogers, and greet my sister.”

“Yessir.” Steve croaked before he was swooping Becca into another hug.

“Steve?” Becca trembled as she held him just as tight as she had held Bucky seconds ago.

Bucky watched them for a whole minute before he stepped forward and joined the hug. Becca cried from her carefully squashed position in between them. Bucky’s arms weren’t quite long enough to stretch across Becca and all the way around Steve’s wide back, but he gave it his best damn attempt.


	3. A Lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updates will probably remain weekly. I'm picturing this story won't break 20 chapters, and if it does I'll be suprised - but in saying that, I have thoughts on possibly continuing this as a series; who knows? 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

A long time later found Bucky sitting on the sofa with Steve pressed tight from knee to hip. Across from them on the second sofa sat a still somewhat shaky Becca and her very confused husband.

“God, Bucky, it’s been _years_. A lifetime.” Silent tears still leaked from Becca’s eyes, but she tried her best to pat them away.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged and offered a weak version of his usual grin, “Story is that Stevie and I got stuck in some ice after we hit the water.”

“Ice?” Becca laughed, though it sounded less humoured than it did slightly hysterical. Her face was pinched in a look of near disbelief, “It sounds like science fiction!” She clutched tight to her husband’s hand and shook her head. “I just can’t believe you’re both back. And you look _so_ young.”

“ _And_ _handsome_ , right? Don’t forget handsome, Becca.” The teasing words fell from his lips with very little thought. He relaxed back against the couch cushions to the sound of Becca’s laugh and Steve’s snort of amusement.

“How long have you boys been back?” Becca’s husband, Timothy Proctor, asked. Timothy – call me Tim – hadn’t stopped grinning since he realised exactly what kind of reunion was happening in his living room. His eyes had shone but he’d managed to sniff back any tears as he had greeted his brother-in-law for the first time.

“Couple hours,” Steve shrugged. “We woke up in some SHIELD base earlier today.”

“SHIELD?” Becca asked curiously.

Bucky gave a shrug of one shoulder. “It’s what the SSR turned into after the war. Somethin’ Steve’s girl, Peggy, set up.”

“She wasn’t my girl!” Steve immediately protested, turning to face Bucky with cheeks already blossoming red.

An answering grin curled Bucky’s lip at the sight of his friend’s embarrassment. “You sayin’ you didn’t want her to be?”

“No,” Steve spluttered, “‘m saying she wasn’t my girl. Come on, Buck. She had to be at least seven years older than us.”

“So? You like older women. Nothin’ wrong with that, Rogers.”

“I don’t like older women!”

Bucky nudged Steve’s calf with the point of his shined shoes. “So Peggy was an exception?’

“Peggy wasn’t my girl,” Steve said firmly, giving Bucky’s shoulder a shove.

Bucky retaliated by sitting forward enough to drive his elbow into Steve’s ribs. “But you sure did fancy her, didn’t ya champ?”

“I swear ta god, Barnes.” Steve surged forward trying to get him in a headlock that Bucky only managed to avoid by slinking down in his seat. Surging forward, Bucky managed to catch Steve around the midriff. He tried and failed to shift Steve’s stupid serum enhanced weight. Meanwhile, Steve used the temporary advantage to lock his arm around Bucky’s neck as best he could and start trying to rough his knuckles across his best friend’s scalp; prevented only by Bucky shoving his head in the questionable sanctuary of Steve’s armpit.

Steve jammed a finger into exposed ribs and Bucky gave an indignant squawk in response before throwing himself sideways. His momentum pulled them both off balance and sent them crashing together onto the floor in a sprawl of limbs and short shrieks of panic.

It was a miracle they managed to avoid the very nice coffee table sat in front of the couch.

They lay tangled up and very still on the carpet for a single beat before they both lunged for one another. It was an unco-ordinated scramble of limbs and elbows that only ended with Steve successfully pinning Bucky in a head lock.

“Say uncle!” Steve shouted as a last warning.

“You’ll never break me!” Bucky cried dramatically, kicking his legs in futile effort for escape. His heroics lasted right up until Steve brought bony knuckles to rough up his poor scalp. “Ow! _Ow_ \- _dammit_ Steve! Uncle! ‘m cryin’ Uncle, for god sake.”

Steve released him, beaming bright and wide at the foul look Bucky shot him.

Bucky pointed a finger at his stupid grinning face. “Don’t you think this is over, Rogers. This is just a tactical retreat. You won’t win next time, ya hear?”

“Whatever you say, Buck.” Steve all but preened.

Bucky threw him one last fowl look, just for principles sake, before turning to face his sister and her husband. The both of them were pressing their hands to their mouths, trying to muffle the laughter that shook their shoulders.

Pulling himself from the floor, Bucky sat very primly down on the sofa. Sulkily, he pulled his uniform straight and set about trying to pat down his horrendously mussed hair.

Steve threw himself back into the seat beside him, grinning over at Becca and Tim.

“God, you two haven’t changed at all, have you?” Becca gasped.

“’S not my fault that Steve’s still a punk.” Bucky argued to very little effect. Both Becca and Tim continued giggling with one another. They didn’t settle down until Bucky had patted his hair back into some semblance of order.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” Becca’s smile remained bright even as her eyes threatened to fill again. “Both of you.”

“You and me both. We weren’t exactly expectin’ to wake up again.” Steve admitted. His smug grin slid off his face as something sadder took its place. “But you shoulda seen this guy, Becca,” Steve jutted a thumb in Bucky’s direction. “There was the Director of Shield - _the agency we_ _owe our lives_ _to,_ _no less_ -, trying to give us a briefing on all the things we missed. An’ Bucky here wanted none of it. Second he found out you were here he was out of his seat and demanding to see you right then.”

Bucky grinned sheepish at the sweet fond smiles Becca and Tim both pinned on him. “What do I care what’s happenin’ with politics and what not, anyhow? Never cared for it much back then neither.”

“That’s because you’re an animal.” Steve announced solemnly.

“Hey!”

Steve shook his head as though disappointed. The whole act might have worked if it wasn’t for the grin he couldn’t wipe from his lips. “It’s true. You never cared for current events.”

“Yeah? Well how did keeping up with current events help you, huh? We’re seventy years in the future. Nothin’ you know is current anymore.” Bucky’s teasing words took on a life of their own. They sat heavy between the pair as they were hit once again with the overwhelming realisation that everything they’d known was changed.

The world had aged, and they were still the same.

Bucky swallowed and offered Steve an apologetic look. It was received with a nod and a short commiserating grimace.

“You said you’d only been back a few hours?” Tim’s voice was thoughtful as his eyes flickered between them. “Did you mean back in the states or, well, _back_?”

Bucky and Steve flashed twin looks of discomfort.

“Oh my,” Becca shook her head. She looked like she wanted to cry again but forced the tears back.

“So, uh,” Steve smiled, though it was a tight painful looking thing, “Fury said you had two children, Becca?” As far as topic changes went it was far from subtle. But no one in the room was eager to bring it up. They fell on the excuse with the hunger of the starving.

Becca and Tim delighted in telling Bucky that not only was he an uncle five times over (two from Becca and Tim, and three from Bobby and his wife), but he was also a great-uncle nine times over! Bucky had gaped at the pair before very quickly stammering a request to see pictures. It was surreal to look at photos of babies that had grown to teens, that grew to adults and then were on to having their own children – all the while knowing they were his family that he’d never had the chance to know them.

In another life he might have held these babies in his arms. Greeted them into the world as their uncle. Taught them how to throw a punch and how to smooth talk. He’d have told them every drop of hard-earned wisdom he’d learned in his short nineteen years.

He should have been there.

The realisation put weight on Bucky’s shoulders and made his smiles turn sadder as he flipped through the albums of photos.

Eventually, Steve made their excuses and they stood to leave.

Becca enveloped them both in tight hugs and extracted promises from them both that they would stay in contact.

“I’ll get on the phone to everyone. We’ll have a proper welcome home bash for you both. Don’t you worry!” Becca’s eyes were knowing as she pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “It’s a little late, but you can meet them all now.” She promised him quietly.

Bucky tried to offer her a smile but knew it came out weak. “We’ll come back and visit you real soon,” He promised instead.

Becca examined him for a silent second before tugging him in for one last hug. “I’m so glad you’re home, Bucky. I love you.” She murmured into his chest.

Bucky pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you too.”

In the two weeks that followed, Bucky and Steve were set up in a very nice Manhattan two-bedroom apartment. At first, they had argued on where they wanted to live but Bucky had succinctly argued the point by saying; ‘We can’t leave New York, it home. But we can’t live in Brooklyn with all it’s memories. We’ve never lived in Manhattan’.

It hadn’t taken Steve long to agree.

SHIELD had taken care of all of it. They had helped quietly revive them from the dead, setting them up with new papers and their own licenses. The real shocker had come when they’d been given access to their army wages only to learn that it had sat accumulating interest over the years they’d been gone. They were two nineteen-year-old kids and they’d never have to work another day in their lives if they didn’t want to. Bucky and Steve had wasted very little time in taking a small chunk from each account and buying two _very nice_ Harley motor bikes.

SHIELD had also provided re-occurring appointments for them to attend each week aimed at introducing them to the 21st Century. While Bucky had thrived at learning new technologies and had enjoyed the science (though he didn’t always understand it all), Steve had hated it. On the opposite hand, Steve had enjoyed catching up on important world events and current political economics; Bucky meanwhile had wanted to scratch his own eyes out and beg for their assigned agent to _stop_ _talking_. They helped balance each other out – though neither of them was all too ready to try and delve into the new social norms of the time.

They were nineteen and they were living life almost like hermits. They attended their numerous SHIELD appointments, and made effort to visit Becca each weekend, but other than that they mostly haunted their apartment. The only reoccurring outing outside of these two things was to the local gym they’d found.

It wasn’t anything fancy like so many of the gyms that had popped up around Manhattan. It was a quiet hole in the wall sort of place where the owner didn’t mind letting them in after hours if they slipped him an extra fifty dollars each week. When they couldn’t sleep, they went to the gym. When the frustration of the modern world got too much, they went to the gym. When their thoughts lingered on all they had lost, they went to the gym.

All in all, for being two weeks into a brand-new world, Bucky thought he and Steve were doing pretty alright.

And then the aliens came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!


	4. Some Real Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to give you this one early too, just because it's pretty short - and then next week we can get straight into the battle itself. 
> 
> Warning: There is cussing throughout this chapter

Bucky was sat against the wall, breathing heavy and covered in sweat. He watched Steve pummel the boxing bag in front of him like it had personally insulted him. While Bucky often prescribed to the punch-your-problems-away philosophy, some nights he just wanted to wear himself out good and proper. Thankfully the new world they lived in came with the wonderful invention of running machines. He was able to run himself ragged on there until his legs felt like jelly and his mind finally quietened; losing himself in the rhythmic pounding of feet on floor. The running machine might be his new favourite invention of the 21st Century. Though, he’d have preferred the machine to be able to run just a little faster; it did the job well enough as it was, but he did have to run a fair while to tire himself out.

“This is how you boys spend your Friday night?” A familiar voice called as Fury stepped into the light of the gym.

Steve paused; fist pressed against the bag. He turned to look at the Director as he approached, scowling just a little that one of their very few sanctuaries was being invaded.

“Can I help you Director?” Steve demanded. His tone skated that very fine line between polite and insolent.

Bucky figured it was time to intervene. He stood, making his way over with a sweat towel still thrown over his shoulder and a water bottle in his hand.

Fury eyed Steve carefully but chose not to comment on the tone. He did, however, turn to address his next words to Bucky instead.

Bucky had to hand it to him, the man could read a room.

“I’ve got some files for you to look at.” Fury said, holding a plain manilla folder out for Bucky to take.

Juggling his water bottle to the crook of his elbow, Bucky took the file and cracked it open. His eyes landed first and foremost on the little picture attached. Something tightened in his stomach; it felt a lot like anger. Biting his tongue, Bucky quickly scanned the file before turning scathing eyes upon the Director.

“The hell is this?” Bucky demanded, like he hadn’t just read the file. Like he didn’t know that SHIELD had found and scooped up the Tesseract and then spent time experimenting with it.

“It’s gone missing. Taken from a facility a few days ago.” Fury folded his hands in front of him. He looked down a moment before glancing back at them. “We need your help to find it.”

And wasn’t that a crock of shit?

Bucky blinked at the Director in sheer disbelief even as anger burned so hot through him, he was sure his goddamn ears would start smoking.

“You kidding me right now?” Bucky asked, voice dangerous; his own version of ‘ _someone’s-about-to-get-knocked-the-fuck-out’_. If they way Steve turned quickly toward him was any indication, it was a safe bet the blond recognised the tone.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked; pulling the file from Bucky’s unresisting hands. “The _Tesseract.”_ Steve hissed.

“Howard Stark fished it out of the ocean when he was looking for you.” Fury wasn’t oblivious to their rising tension, though he continued as if he were. “It was taken by a being called Loki.”

“A being?”

“The world’s stranger than you could ever imagine, Sergeant.” Fury nodded to him, a tense smile on his lips. “There’s a de-briefing file waiting for you both back at your apartment. We need you on this.”

Bucky couldn’t stop the scoff from escaping his lips. He turned away and headed back to his gym bag. It didn’t take long to stuff what few belongings they’d brought with them back in the bag. Almost without looking up, he caught Steve’s hand wraps that the blond tossed in his direction and stuffed them away too. Throwing the bag over his shoulder, Bucky started toward the door.

Fury watched him go before turning to face Steve. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

“Yeah,” Steve sniped, shoving the file back at Fury before turning and beginning to follow after Bucky, “You should have left it in the ocean.”

“This is some bullshit, Steve.” Bucky all but growled.

They had returned to the flying Heli-carrier (a whole flying base, Bucky _loved_ the future, this was way better than Howard’s failed flying car) after they captured Loki in Germany. At the time they’d thought they were finally getting a step ahead of the game.

And then the Heli-carrier was attacked.

Turned out, what they thought had been them getting ahead, was just another step in Loki’s game. The attack had been well planned out. It had succeeded in sending the budding team of ‘Avengers’ scrambling in different directions.

There had been casualties. Notably, an agent by the name of Phil Coulson.

Phil Coulson was a stern-faced man. He kept a bland look of mild manners on his face even as his eyes had lit up when he rambled praise upon Steve for his being Captain America. Not even the fact the man looked to be twenty years their senior stopped him from gazing at Steve adoringly. Bucky had nearly choked on his snorted laughter even as he found himself inexplicably fond of the agent.

That man was now dead.

Bucky was no stranger to deaths in the field. It was only four weeks ago by his keeping that he’d watched some poor kid dressed in an American uniform get his head blown off simply for sticking it up at the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time.

Death happened.

Didn’t mean Bucky was any less pissed about it.

For the first time, he _wanted_ to do some Avenging.

But he stood by his comment even as he stripped off his comfy jeans in favour of tac pants with _so_ many helpful pockets and holsters. He refused anything to do with the colourful monstrosity that was the costume they had prepared for him to wear – clearly someone had been taking cues from those godawful comic books. Instead he went with standard issue black tac pants, his white t-shirt, a tac vest with just as many fun pockets and holsters as the pants, and his black leather jacket over the top.

It was the closest thing he’d get to a uniform. Though he admittedly enjoyed the hilarity that was Steve decked out in the red and white stripes.

“I know,” Steve grunted an acknowledgement.

Bucky moved over to the weapons drawers and began stuffing as many knives, guns, and clips of ammo onto his person as he possibly could. A second of hesitation was quickly dismissed before he was slinging a beautiful Colt M4A1 Carbine onto his shoulder and shoving a few of the corresponding mags into his remaining pocket space.

“You want the Glock 17 or the P226?” Bucky asked, hand hovering between the Glock and the SIG-Sauer.

“I’ve got my shield.”

Bucky damn near strained something with how hard he rolled his eyes. “You’re a soldier not a pin-up girl. You’re taking a goddamn gun, Rogers.” He’d swear down that Steve had never been this stupid in the war, but he wouldn’t want to make a liar of himself. Making an executive decision, Bucky pulled the Glock from its shelf and pulled out to two spare mags. “You get a holster on that ensemble of yours?”

“No. Throw me a thigh holster?”

Bucky dug one out and passed the whole lot over. They were ready for action in eight minutes flat. Certainly not the quickest time but considering they were dealing with new uniforms and kits, it wasn’t bad.

They made a quick detour to pick up Natasha ‘The Black Widow’ Romanoff and her recently un-mind-controlled partner, Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton. And then they were off in one of the future’s handy dandy, quick as hell, jets.

They arrived in New York to see aliens spilling out of the sky.

Bucky spat a cuss so filthy that it would have turned his poor Ma white as a sheet. “Aliens,” he finished with.

“ _Aliens_.” Steve agreed.


	5. New York

The fighting wasn’t too bad, Bucky discovered. Well, fighting was always awful. There was quite literally nothing worse than being in an active warzone. The scramble between life and death; fighting back against enemy combatants for your very right to _live_. Awful stuff.

But it _was_ familiar.

Sure, it was Aliens pouring from the sky and stalking the streets, not human soldiers. But what difference was there really between an alien and a Nazi when they both went down just the same with a bullet between their eyes?

Bucky stuck close beside Steve and they fell into a very familiar pattern. The shield sung through the air as they passed it back and forth. The over-sized frisbee spent nearly as much time in Bucky’s hands as it did Steve’s. But that was normal too. So was the way Bucky threw his Ka-bar knife to smack, handle first, into Steve’s waiting hand seconds before the other man needed it to down a particularly obnoxious alien. There was no hesitation or fear. Steve had known he needed the knife in the same way he’d known Bucky would give it to him; even if they were separated by several feet. It wasn’t even hard to catch the returned knife; Bucky using the momentum of the catch to drive the knife into another alien’s eye before bringing his foot up and kicking the alien off the blade.

In his hands, his gun was a blur. Bullets sang happily through the air before finding homes in alien flesh with the precision of someone long used to shooting. One bullet, one kill.

Sweat soaked through his shirt, slicked the tac vest and made it all stick to his back unpleasantly. His normally perfectly coiffed hair fell in disarray, though that fact was secondary to the chunk of alien goo that plastered the left side against his scalp. Bucky’s breathing might be coming fast from the exertion, but his hands didn’t shake when he lined up a shot.

It was all good.

Until he caught a blast of one of the alien’s blasters to his left shoulder. The tac vest wasn’t enough to completely stop the blast from coming through and searing a hole in his shoulder. Though the heat of it neatly cauterised the wound and stopped the worst of the bleeding, the shot still sent Bucky slamming back against an abandoned taxi – the metal denting under his back.

The alien was lining up a second shot when a shield of red and blue took its head from its shoulders.

Bucky let his head slump back. He closed his eyes for a short second before opening them to the sight of Steve hovering over him.

“You okay?” Steve asked, hand outstretched.

Bucky took the offered hand and let Steve tug him up to his feet. His shoulder ached like a bitch, and around the wound his white shirt was being soaked in a mostly gentle stream of blood.

“‘m good. Took a hit to the shoulder but s’not too bad.” He caught sight of Steve’s arched brow and rolled his eyes hard. “I’m fine, Cap. It’ll hold.”

“If you wanna tap out-,”

“What? You gettin’ tired already, Stevie?”

“Careful, Barnes.” Steve mock growled. His eyes lingered a second longer on Bucky’s shoulder before turning back to the work at hand. “On my six, Sergeant.”

“Always.” Bucky agreed. He scooped low and retrieved his fallen Colt from the floor.

He stayed close to Steve after that as they cut a swath through the alien forces. They separated briefly while Steve went to help some civilians trapped in a bank, while Bucky ran to help some struggling NYPD officers push back a half dozen aliens. It was business as usual.

He shot clean through an alien that was bearing down on a fallen officer, reaching the overwhelmed man just in time to offer him a hand up.

“Thank you,” The man gasped, shaking hands reaching down to grab his lost gun.

“Think nothin’ of it, officer.” Bucky drawled, full charm in his smile even as he blasted another alien back from the line they were struggling to hold.

“Alright you lot,” Bucky turned to the first officer on his right, a grim-faced woman with dirt covering nearly all of her exposed skin, “Take out everything on the left side of the street. With _extreme_ prejudice.” He barked the order in his best Sergeant voice. Not a single one of them questioned him despite him being years, and nearly decades, younger than some of them. He focused his efforts on clearing the right side.

When Steve came flying out of the bank on the blast of an explosion to land hard and heavy on a _different_ taxi, Bucky wasted no time in picking off the few aliens hovering anywhere near him. He led the NYPD officers to the area and let them clear the civilians while he went and dragged Steve’s stupid ass up.

“Way to stick the landing, Cap.” Bucky congratulated even as he looked his friend over. Steve had managed to lose his cowl at some point in his last scuffle. Bucky used its loss to his advantage and grabbed Steve’s chin to examine a nasty cut along the side of his head. “Tell me, is it normal to stop the rest of your body with your face?” It would need stitches, but there was little they could do now. At least Bucky could be appeased that it wasn’t life threatening.

And while there was a haze to his eyes, there was no real concern of a severe concussion with the way Steve was glaring at him.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.” Steve told him blandly.

Bucky patted his cheek condescendingly before taking a step back. “You’re just sore because I’ve killed more aliens than you.”

“You have not!”

“103.”

“You’ve been keeping count?”

Bucky gave him a disbelieving eyebrow, “You _haven’t_?”

“Fine.” Steve looked down-right sullen for a second before scornfully admitting, “97.”

“Ha.”

“Day ain’t over yet, Sergeant.”

“You guys know we can hear you, right? Comms are _wide_ open.” The sudden intrusion of Tony Stark’s voice from their communicators was less than welcome even if the billionaire sounded mostly amused by their exchange.

“We’re heading back to the bridge.” Steve’s voice was one-hundred percent Captain America. The teasing tone he’d shared with Bucky seconds before was nowhere to be heard in the even timbre of his command. The very sound of it made Bucky straighten up. Without any further conversation, they began jogging back toward the bridge, taking out any aliens they saw along the way. “Widow, update on closing that portal?” Steve demanded.

Bucky listened to the exchange between Widow and Hawkeye with some interest but inevitably lost the train of the exchange when he got busy increasing his winning streak. If the way Steve was currently fighting was any indication, the other man meant to take the lead for his own – and quick.

Despite the numbers they were putting down, more and more of the aliens swarmed them on the streets.

They were met by Thor who used his fantastic hammer to great effect. The god of thunder stuck around, fighting alongside them with a grim face that twisted into a grin every time he caught one of their eyes.

Bucky quickly ran out of bullets for his Colt and, taking inspiration from Thor, used it as a blunt instrument to bludgeon the next alien to get near. It rewarded him with a liberal splash of sickly blue blood across his chest and on the underside of his chin. Disgusted, he tossed his weapon aside and pulled out one of his handguns.

They pushed on but it was becoming increasingly clear that, with the portal open, this would not be a fight they could win. Not with just the seven of them.

Bucky’s attention was yanked behind him when Steve went down hard with a blaster to the stomach. Bucky was moving before he’d given it all that much thought. He stomped on the side of the shield, flipping the metal up into his hands, taking up position in front of Steve and catching the next blast on the metal – no doubt ruining the lovely paint job. The second there was a break in the firing, he ducked out and emptied the last half of his clip in the alien’s face.

Thor stepped in, swinging his hammer with enough force to send a car careening into the aliens standing behind the one who shot Steve.

Bucky decided to leave him to it, turning to help Steve up. He was in the process of extending his hand when movement at his right had him whipping the shield around. Instead of one of the blaster shots, the alien threw a bundle at him. It looked like nothing he recognised but the increasingly quickening beeps it gave was hint enough for him to know what it was.

Explosive.

There wasn’t enough time to kick it and get it clear. With that grim acknowledgment, Bucky threw the shield over the top of it and then flattened his own body on top of that. He braced.

Bucky actually managed to catch air as the force of the explosion tossed him off. He was in free fall right up until his ribs met the burning remains of yet another fine New York taxi. There wasn’t enough co-ordination left in his limbs to roll with the hit. Instead he bounced off the taxi to land, boneless, against the concrete.

For a long minute he lay there, panting through the pain of what he knew were at the very least cracked ribs. It felt like there might even be a jagged laceration against his side where a piece of metal sticking out of the damaged taxi had jabbed him. Worse still – he’d bit his tongue when he’d impacted, and it stung like a papercut doused in lemon juice.

When a hand appeared in his vision, Bucky wasted no time to take it and let the owner pull him to his feet. He groaned low, spat a mouthful of blood to the floor, hand pressing his side as he turned with a witty quip about him getting injured while Steve was lazing about, only to pause when he realised it was Thor who’d pulled him from the ground. The blond’s face was crinkled in concern even as he offered an encouraging smile.

“You have my thanks. That explosion surely would have injured us all gravely but for your quick thinking.” Thor said sincerely.

“All in a day’s work, pal.” Bucky gave a grin he knew was bloody. He clapped a hand on Thor’s shoulder as he moved to stand back side by side with Steve. “You alright, Stevie?” Bucky asked, pulling his last remaining handgun into the hand not putting pressure on his side.

“I’ll walk it off.” Steve grunted, throwing the shield with a touch more vehemence.

It wasn’t a yes, but Bucky hadn’t really been expecting one. They’d both need medical and some R&R after this. Instead of commenting, Bucky took three quick shots and downed three aliens. “That’s 165 for me.” He said, grinning.

“You slowing down?” Steve asked. His hand was a blur as he threw his shield and neatly decapitated two aliens with one toss. “That’s _166_ for me, Barnes.”

Bucky tossed him a weak glare, a faint echo of true ire more than anything else. “Enjoy the lead while you can. You won’t keep it for long.”

“Promises. Promises.” Steve hummed. He tossed the shield to Bucky just in time for the Sergeant to bring it up against a barrage of blasts coming from his right.

And then, like the voice of a real-life angel, Widow came over the comms with the announcement of; “I can shut the portal down. Does anyone copy? I can close it!”

Steve, the fool, turned away with his hand to his comm and an order for her to; “Do it. Do it now”.

Bucky slipped to the side and took up position blocking Steve from the aliens that were _still firing on them – but sure Steve you just stand there and make a damn call._

At least Bucky could count on Thor to help. The god tore through the ranks with his hammer while Bucky emptied his last clip into the aliens around them. He was officially out of ammunition. All he had left were knives.

Steve was still on the comms. Bucky would have tuned into what was being said in rapt fire retorts between Steve, Stark, and Widow with more than just a weathered ear, but he was much to busy trying to keep him and Steve from becoming the wrong kind of holy.

He pulled a knife into his hand and was more than happy to use it on any alien that got too close, despite the godawful way it pulled on his injured side. Using the shield would be a kinder method but it would also take away his only line of defence in protecting Steve. Bucky grunted and got to work with his knife.

He did look up when Iron Man went screaming past, a missile on his shoulders and his trajectory set for the portal.

“What’s he-?” Bucky didn’t have time to finish before red and gold armour disappeared. He watched, mouth gaping open and chest heaving, for the suit to reappear. A bright light lit up in the portal, growing slowly closer.

All around them the aliens screamed as if in agony before dropping to the floor in death throes. Not a single one of them made another attempt to get back up.

Bucky looked around before turning his gaze back to the portal, still waiting for the armour.

“Close it.” Steve gave the order firmly; but his shoulders were heavy, and his face spoke of regret. Bucky could do nothing more than reach out and put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder before returning his gaze back to the portal.

Whatever Widow did, it was quickly done.

The portal began collapsing in on itself. Getting smaller and smaller.

Bucky looked away.

“Son of a gun,” Steve muttered quietly. It was the relieved amazement in the others voice that had Bucky whipping his head around to catch sight of the armour falling. Iron Man was falling boneless with limbs whipping in the air, but _he was back_.

The Hulk, mostly silent during the fight besides the sound of him wrecking, caught him mid-air before even Thor could get off the ground.

And then it was a mad sprint through a city block of carnage, ducking low and jumping high over debris. All injuries were forgotten for the time being as they rushed to their team-mate’s side.

Thor arrived first but only because he cheated by flying. Steve and Bucky both skid to a gravel disturbing stop just in time to see Thor rip the face plate off of the suit.

Bucky winced in sympathy for Steve’s knees when the Captain dropped with a thud to kneel beside Iron Man. The Captain pressed his ear up to Stark’s face, checking for breath. When Steve sat back, trembling hand touching the no longer lit light in the Iron Man armour, Bucky felt the euphoria of before shatter.

Stark was back but he was still gone.

The Hulk roaring made more than Stark jump. Bucky’s hand went back to pressing tightly against his once again throbbing ribs even as he grinned at the breathless enquires of a very much alive Tony Stark.


	6. Shawarma and all kinds of Bad Karma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Am still alive and writing - if only just. Not going to lie, between the covid crisis, renovating my house and university, I've literally had no time to even look at this these last few months. Thankfully, I'm still a fair few chapters ahead so I'll start writing now and try to get you more regular updates (though not next week because I'm going camping and no internet - sorry!). I'll post this short chapter now, and depending on how much writing I get done in the next two days, might post the next chapter before I leave on Monday! Here's hoping I get all the inspiration!

Afterwards, with Loki taken in by SHIELD, they went for Shawarma.

Bucky ate more than his fair share. He shovelled food into his face like he’d never eat again - his poor Ma would be ashamed if she was there to see the utter lack of all good table manners. It was delicious and he was starving. Only, once his appetite was sated, he fell into an exhausted kind of stupor that needed at minimum twenty-three hours of sleep to fix.

He was staring off into space, blinking tiredly with eyelids that only got heavier, when Tony called his name.

“Huh?” Bucky blinked over at him.

The billionaire rolled his eyes good-naturedly before repeating what he’d said. “I was just saying that your file was entirely inadequate. I mean, it was suggested that you might be _slightly_ enhanced what with the whole surviving deep freeze thing, but clearly ‘ _slightly’_ is a mute word.”

Bucky blinked dumbly at him, trying to get the cylinders in his brain to start firing again. “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, Stark?”

“First, I told you to call me Tony.” Tony reminded, holding up a finger as if counting down. “And second,” he dropped his finger, apparently done with the visual aid, “I’m talking about you being as enhanced as Cap! And _no one_ thought to tell _us_ that!”

Bucky and Steve exchanged quietly confused looks before turning the expression up a notch to pin Stark with.

“Bucky’s not enhanced, Tony. He’s just a regular guy.” Steve said slowly like someone explaining something very simple to a very stupid person.

“You guys don’t actually believe that?” It was, surprisingly, Clint who asked; sounding far too shocked and vaguely amused.

“Whaddya want from me? I didn’t get none of Steve’s super juice. I’m just me.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders wishing this whole thing would end. All he wanted was to go back to their apartment, take a long ass shower and then climb into bed for at least two days.

“No, see, no one can do the things you did today without some kind of enhancement. I mean, come on, you were keeping up with Steve in the field, and he’s enhanced! Doesn’t that tell you something?” Tony pressed pointedly.

Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling himself to his feet with a noticeable wobble. “It tells me that we all need some well-earned rest. Particularly _you_ , Tony.” Bucky offered the man a small grin. “Come on, Stevie, let’s get the hell outta here. I think I could sleep for a week!”

Steve’s short laugh turned into a groan as he levered himself to his feet. They had to lean against one another to keep upright and moving. Neither one of them turned around for Tony’s spluttered protest; paying it no heed beyond a sloppy wave thrown over their shoulders.

Together they stumbled their way past the emergency crews and recovery operatives that were already hard at work. Though many stopped to stare, not one of them tried to stop the faltering duo on their way. Bucky was in ordinarily pleased with their consideration. It glowed warm in the bottom of his stomach.

The warmth was all too quickly sucked away when they got to their apartment building only to see the top three floors were in various conditions of caved in or destroyed. 

Including the top floor apartment of two recently returned World War two soldiers. 

The cuss Bucky gave was awful enough to almost resurrect his dear departed Ma – if only so she could tan him a new hide.


	7. What's Family For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright Nah. I felt bad not posting this next bit. I'm still heaps ahead and that last chapter was pathetically short considering how long the gap was between it and the last. So enjoy this extra bit on me!

They’d turned together, moving silently as one, to the carpark of their building. Both very much relieved to find their bikes unmarred by the battle. The apartment was already an insult to injury, but if their bikes had been damaged? Bucky might have gone back to SHIELD just to smack Loki right in the mouth a time or dozen.

By mutual agreement they both piled onto their bikes. All it had taken was one disgusted and distrustful glare at a passing New York taxi for them both to decide they’d rather risk driving themselves. While not an active enemy, the iconic New York yellow cab had more than made it clear today that they were no friend to de-frosted soldiers.

They hadn’t exactly discussed where they were going to go. Somehow, they had both found themselves instinctively turning in the direction of Brooklyn. Or more specifically, Becca’s house.

If there was one thing you could count on family for, it was for them to willingly offer you a couch to sleep on after your apartment was squashed in an alien attack.

Getting off the bike was somehow much harder than getting on it had ever been. Bucky and Steve wavered like they were drunk, leaning against each other as they swayed dangerously. Two weeks ago, they had walked up the stairs of Becca’s front stoop for the first time. The seven steps hadn’t seemed so impossibly challenging then.

Teamwork and more than one handprint dented into the stair railing, saw them to the front door. They only had to knock twice before the door was being ripped open to reveal a grey faced Becca Barnes.

She took one look at them and her face _crumpled_. Only sheer will stopped the tears building in her eyes from running down her face. Her hand made to move to cover her mouth before shakily diverting to instead cup against the side of Bucky’s face.

“Oh my God, James. Oh, I thought- we could see it all on the television. Are you-? Oh Steve! You both look horrendous.” Becca rambled as she urged them into the house. “Tim! Tim call Kimberly! Tell her to bring her kit!”

Bucky focused on getting them through the short entrance hall, bypassing the carpeted living room to instead go to the tiled kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to put alien goo or blood on Becca’s carpets.

“You mind if we take a shower?” Steve asked, voice gruff and tired.

“Of course not, Steve. You know where the bathroom is?”

“Yeah. Come on, Buck.” Steve almost threw them to the stairs.

Bucky’s shoulder scraped against the wallpaper – thankfully not the one that was injured. He could only hope he didn’t leave a smear of dirt against the walls as they began thumping carefully up the stairs. Becca hovered behind them the entire way as if she had every intention of catching them should they falter.

“I’ll get you both a change of clothes. Just leave what you’re wearing in the tub and I’ll throw it away later.” Becca instructed, her panic already dying down to practicality. “There are towels in the cupboard, and Tim is calling Kimberly – she’s one of Bobby’s, and a doctor.”

“Thanks Becca. We’ll be ok now.” Bucky promised, flashing her a tired version of his normal grin. He caught sight of her watery smile before carefully easing the bathroom door shut behind them.

With both him and Steve in the room, it was a tight fit. Their elbows knocked together, a symphony of groans hitting the air, as they stripped down to their skivvies. Steve’s iconic shield was tipped face down on the counter, used as a platter to hold the few remaining weapons they had on their persons – mostly knives, though Steve had managed to keep hold of his gun and a single spare mag.

“You first.” Bucky grunted, nodding to the shower. It was a testament to just how tired Steve was when he didn’t fight it – merely stepping into the shower and turning the stream hot.

Bucky sat on the toilet lid while Steve washed. Any other time he’d have left the man to it, but it was standard practise to not leave an injured man alone in the showers. If Steve were to pass out and slip, he could hurt himself worse. So Bucky sat with one ear listening to the low hisses of pain Steve gave, while he stared blankly down at his bruised and dirt covered hands.

The water didn’t turn off though the shower door opened, and Steve stepped out. Bucky stood, stripping his skivvies and stepping in while Steve wrapped a towel around himself. The water was both terrific and awful. It burned where it touched his injuries but soothed where it touched already aching muscles. Bucky didn’t linger long before setting to cleaning himself. He scrubbed his body down, taking special care to scrub his hair through twice to make sure he got all of the alien goop off himself.

Once he was sure he was clean, and the water ran clear, Bucky let himself have a moment to relax. Post mission fatigue leeched the strength from his limbs. Encased as they were in the safety of Becca’s home, the adrenaline that had fuelled him past the point of exhaustion was quick to dissipate.

Reaching out blindly, Bucky hit the lever to turn the water off. He couldn’t make himself move away from where he was leant against the tiles. The cool tile felt almost heavenly against his forehead. They’d muddled through all evening but now the very last of his reserves were gone. Bucky quite thought he might be able to fall asleep standing up right here.

“Buck?” Steve called. The shower door opened, and his friend’s hands wasted no time in slowly helping him out. “Come on, pal.” Steve murmured, sitting him down on the closed toilet lid before tossing a towel over him.

“So tired, Steve.” Bucky mumbled, half heartedly scrubbing at his hair with a second towel Steve tossed at him.

“I know, Buck. Just a little longer and we can rest.” Steve opened the bathroom door wide enough to grab the pile of clothes sat outside. He returned with two neatly folded sets of pyjama pants and t-shirts.

It took a bit of manoeuvring with both of them in the bathroom, limbs heavy with exhaustion as they bumped against one another, but eventually they both managed to dress. Bucky donned a simple pair of blue stripped pants and a dark green shirt while Steve had some very nice sheep on his pants that matched lovely with his sky-blue shirt.

“Not a word, Barnes.” Steve grunted against the tired smirk Bucky threw him. Steve grumbled something unflattering under his breath as he led the way out into the hall.

Getting down the stairs was both easier and far harder than it had been to climb up. They were met at the bottom of the stairs by a worried Tim and Becca.

“Kimberly is on her way. She should be here any moment.” Tim announced, smiling tightly at them both.

“Thank you, sir.” Steve intoned on behalf of them both. “We’re sorry for turning up so unexpectedly but our apartment was destroyed in the fighting.”

“Don’t be stupid, Steven Rogers. You know you’re both always welcome here.” Becca said sharply. “Now, come sit down.”

Bucky followed complacently into the living room where he all but collapsed back against the sofa. His legs sprawled out in front of him as he sunk down low. The couch cushions embraced the curve of his aching shoulders and cradled the back of his head.

The sudden sinking of the couch cushions next to him made him crack open eyes he hadn’t been aware of closing. He tried to blink off the groggy remnants of sleep as he looked around.

“Alright Uncle James?” An unknown lady with familiar brown eyes and a face shape that reminded Bucky vaguely of his father, asked.

“Hmm?”

“My name’s Kimberley, but you can call me Kim.” The woman said, offering him a small smile. “Aunt Rebecca called me to come take a look at you and Captain Rogers. She and Uncle Tim are waiting in the kitchen to give us a little privacy.”

If he’d have been even a touch more awake, he might have made comment to their apparent relation. As it was, his brain only managed to stick on one part of her statement. Bucky’s tired eyes scanned the room. “Steve?” He called, voice husky from a sleep he hadn’t planned to take.

“What’dya want, Buck? ‘m tryin’ to sleep.” Steve groaned from the sofa opposite his own.

“You ‘kay?”

“‘m fine. You’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky gave a tired grin. He didn’t protest when warm hands pulled at the hem of his t-shirt; just sat forward enough for it to be tugged over his head. There might have been some kind of vocal reaction to the damage beaten onto his flesh, but Bucky was far too busy to give it much thought. “Hey Steve?”

“Yeah pal?”

“183.”

“You’re kiddin’ me.”

“Come on, Rogers, let’s hear it.” Bucky urged, flapping a hand in his general direction.

“I want it noted that I was also busy leading the team.”

Bucky guffawed. He could practically taste victory on his tongue as he grinned widely. “No excuses!”

“Seriously, I _was_ real busy.”

“Take your defeat like a man, Stevie.”

“Ugh,” Steve groaned before muttering something too quiet for Bucky to hear. While he couldn’t see his friend’s features, Bucky could almost picture the way his face would be scrunched up in a sulk.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Steve heaved a very put-upon sigh, “I count 176.”

“HA!” Bucky exclaimed loudly. Loud enough to make the hands pressing a wound pad on his shoulder jolt in surprise, hitting against the wound. Bucky might have been annoyed but that pain was nothing compared to how his ribs screamed at the sudden jostling. “ _I beat you by seven.”_ Bucky singsonged in a voice only slightly hoarse with pain.

“I was busy!” Steve protested.

“Captain America, ladies and gentlemen. Defeated by his trusty right-hand man. As usual.”

“Oh shuddup Barnes.”

At Kim’s urging, Bucky sat forward so she could get to his ribs properly.

“This’ll probably need stitches.” She said, probing gently against the laceration on his side. “And your ribs might be broken. We’d need to x-ray to be sure, but the bruising is certainly dark enough.”

“Figured as much. Just do what you can, doll, and don’t worry about the ribs.” Bucky grunted, offering her a smile. She returned it, albeit shakily. “So, you’re one of Bobby’s kids?” He asked, tongue feeling loose as his Brooklyn drawl came strong.

Wasn’t that a trip though? The woman sat beside him was, at the very least, twenty years his senior. And yet, she was his kid brother’s daughter.

Kim didn’t stop in her search through her bag, but she did flash him a smile. “That’s right.” When she came back to his side, she had a needle and thread.

Bucky gave a sharp hiss with the first stab of the needle through flesh.

“My dad, he didn’t like talking about you much. I think it was still painful for him, even after so many years.”

“Yeah?” Bucky reply was a touch breathless as he struggled to stay still. It was only partially caused by the needle. “What did he grow up to do, anyhow?”

“Mechanic.”

Bucky blinked in surprise. He hadn’t even known Bobby had wanted to learn about cars. He’d never shown a lick of interest when Bucky was working at that mechanic shop part-time. “I didn’t know he liked cars.”

“He, uh, got into it in the army. Kept it up when he got home.”

Pain flared in Bucky’s chest that had absolutely nothing to do with needle in his flesh. When he spoke, his voice was a croak. “Bobby was in the army?”

Kim nodded but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Her tongue was peaking out from the corner of her lips as she carefully finished the last three stitches before tying it all off. “We’ll need to wrap your ribs. And you’ll need to be careful with them for the next few months. Really, I’d recommend getting them x-rayed-,”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Ain’t my first time with busted ribs.” Bucky waved a hand.

Though her expression pinched in obvious displeasure, Kim didn’t fight him on it. She made quick work of slapping a bandage over the row of stitches before reaching into her bag for a roll of support bandages.

The exhaustion Bucky had set briefly aside snuck back up on him while Kim carefully looped bandages around his chest. The very second she was done, he let himself fall back against the cushions.

“Anything else hurt? Any other injuries you think might need seeing to?” Kim asked, voice professional but still kind.

“Nah. I’m good as new. Thanks, doll.” He gave her a smile which was returned. “You should go check on Steve, though; his face got attacked by a taxi.”

“His -, what?” Kim blinked at him confused.

“I don’t remember taxi-cabs bein’ so evil. But they were out in force today. Right, Stevie?”

Steve grunted a very vague affirmative. It was the kind of noise that meant he had no idea what had been said but was willing to agree if it shut Bucky up.

“Right.” Kim agreed slowly. She patted Bucky’s knee before standing up and gathering her things to move across the room. She paused before moving away, as if she knew this would be her last chance to talk to Bucky tonight. It was a safe bet with the way Bucky’s eyelids were already beginning to draw down. “Aunty Rebecca called about a party next week; an official welcome home for both of you.”

Bucky hummed low in his throat as he blinked slowly up at her.

“I guess I’ll see you there?” It should have been a statement of fact. After all, it was supposed to be their welcome home party. But her words came out far more hesitant; almost shy.

Bucky grinned up at her comfortingly and lazy. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Kim beamed back, offering him a nod before hurrying to the other side of the room where Steve lay out. Bucky listened to the quiet murmur of their voices. Their words were lost to him as his eyelids finally closed.

Sleep came quick and deep.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written so much for this already! I hope you guys actually want more because I have it... I have a lot - seriously, I haven't slept in such a long time because I can't stop writing. Anway, let me know what you think and if you want more!


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